It's Who You Know
by Halcris
Summary: Littlem items of information from various sources come together to achieve a result


**It's Who you Know**.

Doyle woke slowly to a pounding headache, product of the heavy blow he'd received earlier. He lay still, giving himself time to assess his situation, and learned several things.

Firstly, he was in complete darkness. He had a moment's almost panic as he wondered whether this was natural, or whether the blow had deprived him of his sight.

If he could see the luminous hands of his wrist-watch he would have the answer to that. But he'd also found that he was bound hand and foot, and lying on a cold concrete floor.

But then his senses told him something else, something more important. He was not alone ! Somewhere quite close to him was some other living thing. Was it a creature or a human being ?

He spoke loudly into the darkness. "Who's there ? Who are you ?."

There was a slight sound, a stifled gasp, and then there came a whisper. "I'm Mike, "it said hesitantly.

Doyle was surprised. It was a child's voice, and clearly a young, frightened child. He would have to handle this carefully.

"I'm sorry I shouted," he said, in the friendliest tone he could manage.

"I didn't know how near you were. I'm Ray, Ray Doyle, and you are Mike. Mike who ?," he asked gently.

"Mike Ralston," came the voice, a little stronger now.

"Ah, Sir George Ralston," said Doyle.

"He's my uncle," said Mike. "He looks after me. I stay with him in the school holidays."

"And it's half-term now ?," asked Doyle.

"Yes," said Mike, sounding much more confident now.

"Mike," said Doyle carefully. "Are you tied up ?."

"No," replied the boy.

"I am," said Doyle. "Do you think you could be a very clever boy, and find me. You sound very near. Then you could untie me."

"I'll try," said Mike.

Sounds of shuffling movement came from quite close.

A few moments later, Doyle felt a tentative touch on his left arm. Light fingers followed down his sleeve, and then he felt little hands begin to work on the ropes binding his wrists. It took a little while, but at last he felt the cords loosen and fall away.

"Well done, Mike," said Doyle.

As he rubbed his cramped hands, he was relieved to see the welcome glow of his watch-hands. He sat up and reached down quickly to free his feet.

Then he felt in his back pocket for the lighter he always carried, although he did not smoke, and flicked it on.

It revealed the freckled face and sandy hair of a small boy. The child still had a scared look, and instinctively Doyle reached out an arm and drew him close.

"Don't be frightened, Mike," he said gently. "Now you've helped me, I can help you."

Re-assured, the boy burst into a torrent of words. "Some bad men came," he said. "They were stealing Uncle George's things. I heard them and came to look, and they grabbed me."

"We'll do our best to catch them," promised Doyle.

With his free hand, he had been feeling in his pockets. He knew his gun and radio would have been taken from him, but he was hoping something else might have been over-looked.

Yes, it had ! His fingers closed round a small object in an inside pocket.

Releasing the child, he pulled it out and used the light from his lighter to examine it. Not so good !. It appeared to be damaged, presumably when he fell. He fiddled with it carefully. Was it still working ?

"What's that ?," asked Mike curiously.

"It might help my friends to find us," explained Doyle, keeping it simple for the boy.

Just at that moment, the lighter in his hand spluttered and died. He remembered that he had planned to re-fill it the day before but hadn't got round to it. The child gave a startled gasp.

"Don't worry," said Doyle. "There's nothing here to hurt us."

He stood up, drawing the child with him. "Let's investigate," he said, keeping the tone light to re-assure the boy. "Hold onto me and we'll keep together."

He had expected Mike to grab onto some bit of his clothes, but instead a small hand crept into his, and held tight. Together they moved cautiously forward, and after a few steps came up against a wall. Keeping his hand flat on the surface, Doyle eased round to his right. They came to a corner and negotiated that carefully.

A few steps further on, and they came upon a door. Doyle tried the handle, but, of course, it didn't move. He hadn't really expected it would. Hopefully he ran his hand up the wall at the side of the door, and found a light switch. He pressed it and the light of a single un-shaded bulb came on.

"That's better, isn't it ?," he said, turning to the boy. He could now see that the lad was wearing pyjamas, a dressing gown and slippers.

He looked round at their prison. It was a completely empty square box, stone walls without windows and a solid concrete floor. Probably it was only used for storage.

Releasing the child's hand, he got the 'tracker' out again. He couldn't be sure, but he felt that it was working. If that were the case, Bodie would find them eventually. He couldn't be that far away. We'll just have to wait, he thought. For there's no way I can break out of this place.

He decided that they might as well sit down and rest , and found a place close to the door. He settled down with his back to the wall. Mike sat down beside him. He leaned into Doyle, who put an arm round him. As he had expected, within a few moments, the boy's head was drooping against his shoulder. A few more and the child was fast asleep.

He looked at his watch. 2-25 am. No wonder the boy was tired. He stifled a yawn himself.

Settling down to wait, Doyle took the opportunity to go over in his mind all that had brought him to this situation.

C.I.5 had been keeping a close eye on a man called Jeremiah Ferren. He was ostensibly an importer/exporter, with a fleet of lorries ferrying goods to and from the docks, and selling them on.

But there was a strong suspicion that this legitimate business was only a front, and that the man was heavily into criminal activity, mainly to do with drugs.

But recently there had been another development. Ferren had added two large furniture vans to his lorry fleet, and as yet C.I.5 had not discovered for what purpose.

The evening before, he and Bodie had been out in search of a man Cowley wanted a word with. His name was Hankins, a reformed juvenile petty car-thief. He had evidently moved from his last known address, and no-one seemed to know where he had gone.

But as he was known to be a very keen snooker player, they had been touring round every snooker club and hall they could think of, looking for him. They had found several places that knew the man well, but he wasn't present at any of them.

Eventually they had called it a day, and were on their way home. Their route had taken them past Ferren's warehouse. As they drove by, they were surprised to see one of the big furniture vans coming out of the yard.

"I wonder where they are going, this time of night ?," Doyle said.

"Let's follow and find out," suggested Bodie.

So they had turned round and trailed the van. Their interest grew as they followed it out of London and into the countryside beyond.

"They're up to no good, I'm sure," commented Bodie, and his suspicion was confirmed as they saw the van turn into the driveway of a large country house.

"That's Sir George Ralston's place, isn't it ?," ventured Doyle, and his partner confirmed it.

"I reckon they're going to raid it," said Bodie. "He wouldn't be moving house, and certainly not in the middle of the night."

"What shall we do ?," queried Doyle.

Bodie had a quick plan. "I'll drop you here," he said, "and you can move up through the grounds to keep an eye on them. I'll go and roust out the local police to see if we can stop them leaving."

As Doyle climbed out of the car, he added an instruction. "You've got a 'tracker' with you, haven't you ?," he said. "Activate it, so we can find you quickly."

He shot off at speed, as his mate fiddled with the useful little gadget.

Doyle went through the wide gates, and using the cover of the abundant shrubbery, moved up towards the house.

Getting nearer, he could see the van parked close to the front door, which was wide open, letting light stream out into the dark night.

As he watched, crouched in the bushes, he saw two men emerge carrying a large painting which they loaded into the van. They shot back into the house, and came out a few moments later, labouring under the weight of a large desk.

So that's Ferren's new game, thought Doyle, raiding grand houses for antiques and works of art, and no doubt shipping them abroad for huge sums of money.

He suddenly became aware of rustling in the bushes behind him, but before he could do anything, something very hard contacted the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

Doyle had almost dozed off himself, like the boy he was holding, when he heard a sound at the nearby door. A few moments later, and the heavy door swung open to reveal the large frame of Bodie in the aperture.

"So here you are," said Bodie cheerfully. Then he saw his partner was not alone. "Is that the Ralston boy ?," he asked gleefully.

"Yes," replied Doyle, starting to get up.

"Thank goodness for that," exclaimed his mate. "Half the county is out looking for him, and Sir George is frantic with worry."

He turned to one of the men now filling the space in the doorway behind him. "Get onto the police and tell them to let Sir George know the boy is safe and well, and we're bringing him home."

Then he turned back to help Doyle to his feet, still cradling the child who had hardly stirred. "Come on," he said, "The car's just outside. It won't take us long to take him back."

They were rapturously received by Sir George, and an anxious-looking house-keeper. She led Doyle, with his burden, up the stairs to the boy's bedroom. Doyle carefully eased Mike back into his bed and pulled the covers over him. The boy snuggled down contentedly, as if he'd never left it.

"I'll look after him now," said the house-keeper, smiling at Doyle. "We're so very grateful, sir."

Doyle returned the smile, took a last look at the boy, sleeping peacefully, and then hurried down the stairs again to join Bodie and Sir George, who led them both into his study and quickly supplied them all with drinks.

Bodie proceeded to bring his partner up to date with all that had happened.

"I got onto the local police," he began, "And found a lively young inspector, called Fox, who immediately sprang into action. He put out an alarm call to get together enough men to tackle the gang.

He also contacted a friend of his, one of Sir George's tenant farmers, who is also his nearest neighbour. The man very obligingly got up quickly and trundled his big tractor along the road to block Sir George's driveway

As soon as he had got enough men, Inspector Fox had moved in, and the whole gang of five men had been caught red-handed.

"So Sir George will get his treasures back !," he finished triumphantly.

"What about the boy ?," asked Doyle.

Sir George answered eagerly. "He must have heard something," he said, "for he suddenly appeared and came down the stairs. One of the men dashed up and grabbed him. He must have been very frightened, poor lad."

Bodie butted in. "At the same time one of them must have spotted you snooping, and knocked you out. It was a good job they dumped you together."

"Yes, it was," agreed Sir George, "and not too far away. That old storage block is down where the old farm used to be, on the far side of the grounds."

Shortly after that, the pair were back in the car, resuming their journey home, much longer now.

"You'd better get that 'tracker' checked," said Bodie. "I tried it when I got back and got no response."

"I think it must have been damaged when I was hit," said Doyle. "I fiddled with it when I came round, but I wasn't sure it was active."

"You must have woken it up again," said Bodie, "For it suddenly came back on line. So we found you quickly then."

Doyle suddenly had a worrying thought. "I suppose we should have called Cowley, and let him know what was happening ?," he said.

"At this hour in the morning ?," exclaimed Bodie. "He'd have bitten our heads off !.

That brought a wry smile to Doyle's face.

"Besides," added Bodie, "he'll get a full police report on his desk this morning. And we can tell him our side of it when we report in." he glanced at his watch. "In only a few hours," he said with a grimace.

In spite of only being able to grab a couple of hours sleep, Bodie and Doyle reported in at their usual time and knocked on Cowley's office door.

Called in, they entered to find their boss glaring at a report in his hand and looking furious. He waved the report at them.

"Why wasn't I alerted about this ?," he demanded fiercely.

"We didn't expect what we found," said Bodie, "and it all escalated so fast."

"Knowing you'd get a report," put in Doyle, "we thought this morning would do, because of the hour it was."

"I could have been woken," snapped Cowley. Though at the back of his mind he did register that they had considered his comfort. "If any of my men are involved in something, I need to know at once."

"Yes, sir," the pair replied meekly.

"However, you are here now," said Cowley calming down. "So I'll have your report."

So the pair dutifully related all that had happened. When they had finished, Cowley did not give any comment, which rather surprised them.

"I'll get a further report from the police later," was all he said. Then he picked up another report from his desk and read an item to them.

"This explains why you couldn't find Hankins," he said. "He was one of a group picked up by Brixton police yesterday evening, after a protest meeting developed into a minor riot."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged rueful glances. No wonder they hadn't found him.

"But the police learned later that you were looking for him. He was only on the fringe of the action, so they say if you want him, you can collect him. They won't bother to charge him. So off you go there now, and see if you can get anything out of him. I want to know what he remembers about that case two years ago."

The pair shot off at speed, collected Hankins and took him to the C.I.5's Interrogation Centre, in case he might need some persuasion. But, glad to have escaped a possible arrest, Hankins was more than ready to be co-operative, and they soon had all the answers their boss wanted. Bodie was especially pleased about that, as he thought it might get them back in the boss's good books.

They turned Hankins loose, and took the information back to Cowley. As they had hoped, he did seem to be in a better temper.. As they turned to leave, he stopped them, as he picked up another report from his over-loaded desk.

"This is another report from the police about the men that were picked up last night, raiding Sir George Ralston's place. They are being singularly difficult and un-co-operative. They'll all be charged, of course, for they were 'caught in the act', but they are saying nothing to implicate Ferren.

"It was his furniture van," put in Bodie indignantly

"But that's all we've got," responded Cowley. "He is declaring he knew nothing about it, and we can't prove he did."

"I expect the others are either afraid of him, or have been well paid to keep quiet," added Doyle. "We've seen that before."

"That seems to be the case," agreed Cowley, "and we can't interrogate them, our way, as they are in police custody."

That seemed to be that for the time being. Bodie and Doyle got on with other work. There was always plenty of that for C.I.5 !

It was several days later, as they were walking back to their car after some enquiries that they bumped into Hankins, hurrying along the road. He was in a lively mood, and greeted them as if they were long-lost friends. Obviously ready to chat, he told them what he was up to.

"I'm just going to my snooker club," he said. "There's a special match on tonight. The owner has brought in a couple of professional players to give us a bit of a show. Would you like to come ?."

The pair declined, pleading previous engagements. Hankins wasn't put out by their refusal and continued to chat.

"I hear you've caught some of Ferren's men, doing a bit of' 'house clearance'," he said cheerfully.

Oh, thought Doyle, the 'underworld grapevine' has been busy again.

"What do you know about that ?," he enquired.

"Me, nothing," replied Hankins quickly. "It's just that I know one of them. A youngster called Barkman. He was at school with one of my lads, and Tom brought him home for tea several times. He was a cocky little kid then, always boasting about his Dutch relatives. Apparently his mother was Dutch, and was related to that large family that are so big in the world of antiques. I think the name is Rutgers.""

Doyle registered this interesting fact quickly. It might well prove useful.

"And Ferren's related to them too," added Hankins, as with a cheery wave, he disappeared down a side street, off to his snooker club.

"Now that's interesting, if it's true," commented Bodie.

They continued on to base, and put in their report on the enquiries they had been making, handing it in to Cowley's secretary, as he wasn't in his office.

"I think we ought to let the boss know what Hankins said," Doyle suggested as they retired to the rest room for a quick coffee. "It could be significant."

"He's not in at the moment," said Bodie. "He might be ages yet."

But as they were drinking their coffee, they heard the sound of the lift coming up, Familiar brisk footsteps sounded along the corridor, and they heard Cowley's door open and shut.

"He's back," said Bodie, somewhat unnecessarily, as Doyle had heard the sounds too.

"Let's go and tell him," said Doyle, downing the last of his drink. They hurried along the corridor, tapped on the door and were called in.

Doyle quickly explained how they had accidentally met Hankins, and what he had said.

"Interesting," commented Cowley, "If it is true. We'll have to get it checked out, and verified. Leave it with me for now." The pair left then, going 'off-duty',

They arranged to meet later and enjoyed a thoroughly pleasant evening, dining and dancing with two very amenable girls they knew. A well-earned spell of relaxation.

As Doyle rinsed up his breakfast dishes, just before setting out for work, he was startled to hear his phone ring. As so very few knew his number, it had to be important, especially this early in the day.

He answered it quickly, and was surprised to hear the voice of his boss.

"Doyle," said Cowley, "Put together what you need for a trip abroad, most likely with over-night stays, and report here as soon as you can."

Doyle barely had time to answer "Yes, sir.", before the call was cut short.

It didn't take him long to obey Cowley's orders, for he was in the habit of keeping a half-packed bag in the bottom of his wardrobe. He quickly added a few items, including his passport, and made all speed to Headquarters.

"Ready for a trip, Doyle ?", Cowley enquired.

"Yes, sir," replied Doyle. "May I ask where I'm going ?."

"Amsterdam," replied his boss. "I want you to go to Rutgers and find out if they know Ferren, and if he's tried to arrange dealings with them."

"Amsterdam," echoed Doyle. "I'm afraid I don't know much Dutch, sir," he said.

"The man who is going with you does," replied Cowley. "Palmer, one of our newer men. Do you know him ?."

"I have met him at briefings," Doyle responded

"His sister is married to a Dutchman," continued Cowley, "and he visits her whenever he can. He's out now, making flight bookings and arranging accommodation for you both, as he's quite used to doing that. He'll be back soon with the details."

Doyle did his best to assimilate all this information Then he ventured a query about his usual partner. "Bodie, sir, ?" he asked.

"He and Murphy are going to Somerset House and various registry offices, to see if they can verify what Hankins said," replied Cowley.

At that moment there was a tap at the door, and Palmer entered. He was a tall fair-haired man, much like Bodie in build, but with a quiet reserved manner. Doyle did remember having spoken to him once or twice.

"It's all fixed, sir," he said, addressing Cowley. Our flight is the 11.45, so we'd better leave now."

"Right, off you go," said Cowley briskly.

Doyle picked up his bag, and followed Palmer out. He discovered that the efficient agent had a taxi waiting. His bag was already in it, so they were quickly away on the start of their trip.

As it had been a last minute booking, their seats were not adjacent, so Doyle didn't get to talk to his companion. Their flight was delayed for a while, but once they were airborne it was smooth and uneventful. There were further delays due to trouble with the baggage-handlers, but eventually they were cleared and Palmer, familiar with the way, led them out of the airport. He went straight to the taxi rank. He gave the driver an address in fluent Dutch and they set of across the city. Doyle appreciated the efficiency which was making things easy for him.

As soon as they were on the move, Palmer turned to Doyle. "I had a great deal of difficulty trying to get accommodation," he said, "There's a Festival on, and everywhere is full. But as we are not going to be here very long, my sister has agreed to put us up. I hope that will be all right, sir ?"

"I'm sure it will," replied Doyle. "It is very good of her to do it."

So very soon, Doyle was being introduced to Palmer's sister, Anne. She was very like her brother in looks, though smaller, of course. She was quietly welcoming.

"David will show you your room, sir," she said. "I hope you will be comfortable."

Doyle decided mentally that he would dispense with the 'sirs' as soon as possible.

Palmer led him up the stairs to a big back bedroom. It was bright and airy with two neat divans.

Palmer put a bag down on the nearest bed. Doyle noticed that he'd only brought up his bag.

""The bathroom's just next door," said Palmer. As he turned to leave Doyle put a restraining hand on his arm, and stopped him.

"And just where are you planning to sleep ?," he demanded. He'd already assessed the layout of of the small house, and knew there wasn't another spare room.

"There's a sofa in the front room," replied Palmer.

"And what's wrong with these beds ?," he queried, indicating the divans.

Palmer looked embarrassed. "I wouldn't presume, sir," he said. "I'll be all right."

Doyle had already considered the man's size and the size of most sofas.

"Palmer," replied Doyle decisively. "I've shared rooms many times, mostly with Bodie. He can be a pain. He grumbles a lot. You can't be worse than him !."

"If you are sure, sir," said Palmer diffidently.

"I'm sure," replied Doyle. "You'll learn, Palmer, that I very rarely 'pull rank'. I could do now and make it an order, if you like," he added with a grin.

"I'll fetch my bag, sir," said Palmer, responding with a quiet smile, and moving towards the door.

"And while we're at it," added Doyle, "Let's do without all these 'sirs."

Because of the various delays they had suffered, Doyle decided it was too late to start his enquiries, which might take some time So he settled for a quiet evening in, getting to know Palmer's relatives.

Anne's husband came in from his work as a clerk in a local office, and was introduced to Doyle. Jan was a stocky dark-haired young man, with only a little English. They had only been married just over a year. So Palmer acted as interpreter for him when necessary.

Anne produced a very pleasant meal, which was enjoyed by all of them. As they sat over coffee in the lounge afterwards, Palmer turned to Doyle, and quickly suppressing an instinctive 'sir', started a conversation.

"As I understand it," he began, "we are going to make some enquiries at Rutger's. It is such an interesting firm," he added.

"So I understand," agreed Doyle.

"Jan has a connection," went on Palmer, "as have many in this city. So I have been helping him to make a study of them. May I tell you about it ?."

"Please do," said Doyle. "Any background information is always helpful."

"Well it goes back quite a few generations," said Palmer. "The founder was one Oliver Rutger, who was a very hard-working clever man. He built up a thriving business, by buying and selling skilfully. He was also a prolific family man, as they were in those days. He and his wife had eight children, five sons and three daughters. They all married and had large families too, so the grandchildren soon passed the twenty mark, as you can imagine. Most of them married as well, so the number of great-grand-children ran into dozens."

"Spreading out like ripples from a stone thrown in a pond," put in Anne, and the others nodded in understanding.

"Oliver's sons all went into the business, learning from him, So it was carried on down the male line, and there are now sales rooms and auction houses all over Europe, and most of them run by people bearing the family name.

"Impressive," commented Doyle.

"There have been further generations since," went on Palmer, "So if you begin to include those related by law, there are a great many people who can claim some connection, so it is quite possible that both Fenner and Barkman could be distantly connected."

"Very interesting," commented Doyle. "If I might ask, what is Jan's claim.?"

Anne answered for her husband. "His mother, who is now in her sixties, was the daughter of one of the great grand-children," she said.

"That makes him a great, great, great grandchild, doesn't it ?," said Palmer, "But he doesn't set much store by it, do you, Jan ?."

"There must be hundreds of us, surely," Jan protested quietly.

The next morning, Doyle and Palmer presented themselves at the large Rutgers salesroom, in the centre of the city. Fortunately, the gentleman in charge, a Mr. Rutger, of course, spoke very good English. They were ushered into a pleasant large office, and were offered hospitality.

Doyle carefully explained who he was, where he had come from, and what he was asking about.

"We're trying to find out if a man called Ferren is trying to claim a connection with you ?." he began.

Mr. Rutger interrupted urgently. "Mr. Ferren, you have heard from him ?," he asked anxiously. "He arranged, by phone, to send a container load of antiques for me to value and sell for him. But they did not come, and I have not heard from him since."

Doyle and Palmer exchanged looks. This was extremely interesting news. It was clear Ferren was very much involved, in spite of his denials.

"Did he tell you the source of these articles ?," asked Doyle/

"Yes," said the very agitated gentleman before them, "He said an old friend, an antique dealer, had died suddenly, and his widow had asked him to sell his stock for her, so that she could afford to got to her daughter's in Canada."

So Ferren had told him a fine tale, hadn't he ?

"I'm afraid you've been deceived, Mr. Rutger," said Doyle. "That story is not true. The stuff Ferren planned you to sell for him was stolen from a large country house belonging to a lord."

"Stolen property !," exclaimed Rutger, looking horrified. "We would never have touched it if we had known. It would ruin our reputation."

"Have you actually handed over any money ?," queried Doyle.  
"No, we haven't," declared Rutger. "We were waiting to see what the articles were, and if they had any provenance, such as bills of sale."

"Then I think you've had a lucky escape, " said Doyle, "and we can go ahead and deal with Ferren now."

Rutger let out a fierce torrent of words in Dutch, then quickly apologised for his outburst.

Doyle looked over to Palmer, for he hadn't understood a word of it. Palmer gave him a smile. "I think you could translate it as 'cowardly villain' with some doubt of his parentage," he replied.

Doyle nodded and smiled back. That gave him a pretty good idea. He turned back to the irate man. "Will you help us nail him, sir ?," he asked.

"Of course I will," said the man eagerly. "What do you want me to do ?,"

"Write us a clear statement of all Ferren told you, and what he intended to do. Stress that you did not complete the arrangement, accepted no goods, and no money changed hands. That will absolve you from any accusations."

"I will do that willingly," said Rutger, "and my assistant Willem will confirm it, for he heard every word and wrote it down. He does that in case I forget things."

"Splendid," said Doyle, "That is just what we need."

"I will get it done," said Rutger determinedly. "Willem is away at a sale today, but he will be back in the morning. Will you call for the statement in time to join me for lunch ?. It would give me great pleasure to entertain you."

That seemed a very satisfactory arrangement, and the pair were escorted out, accompanied by profuse protestations of gratitude from Mr. Rutger, for having saved their firm's unblemished reputation.

That left them with an afternoon to themselves. Palmer, who knew the city of Amsterdam quite well, led Doyle first to a very pleasant little restaurant for a leisurely lunch, and then on an extensive tour round all the special places he thought Doyle might like to see. He was an excellent guide and Doyle had a very pleasant afternoon.

Before they returned to Anne and Jan's home for another quiet evening, they made a detour to the airport, and made provisional bookings for a late afternoon flight back to London. If all went to plan they would be back home by early evening in time to make a report on their success.

Meanwhile back in London, Bodie and Murphy had been busy with their task. It had meant a long day searching through records and registers, but at last they put together all the information they had been seeking, and carried it triumphantly back to Cowley.

Bodie began the report. "Well, sir," he said, "it seems as if what Hankins said is actually true. Both Ferren and Barkman do have connections with Rutger's ! Ferren's is very convoluted, involving cousins and in-laws. Barkman's is a bit more direct, as his mother is Dutch, but it isn't that close."

"All the details are in here," added Murphy, handing their boss a folder.

Cowley took it, but eyed it doubtfully. "I'm not sure how much use this is going to be to us," he said, causing two rather disappointed faces. "It all depends on what Doyle finds out."

Bodie didn't actually know where his mate had gone. Cowley hadn't told them, and he and Murphy had both been out of the office early, and away all day. He very much wanted to ask, but the scowl on Cowley's face deterred him.

So he said nothing, and he and Murphy went to the rest room, for what they considered a well-earned coffee. And he got his answer there, for Jax had just put the kettle on and was setting out some mugs.

"Do you know where Doyle has gone ?, Bodie demanded.

"Yes," replied Jax immediately. It wasn't a secret. "He's gone off to Amsterdam."

"On his own ?," queried Bodie, a bit annoyed that he hadn't been in on the interesting trip.

"No, he's got young Palmer with him," said Jax. "Apparently his sister married a Dutchman, and he's learned quite a bit of the language from him."

This mollified Bodie a little, as he knew neither he nor his partner had much knowledge of Dutch.

Doyle felt a sense of relief when he saw the lights of London, and then those marking the flight path, as their plane began to descend.

All had gone smoothly at Rutger's, but he would be glad when that special document, hidden safely in the bottom of his bag, was put into Cowley's hands.

And a little later he was doing just that. He and Palmer had made it back to Headquarters just in time before Cowley left his office.

Doyle handed the precious statement to his boss. Cowley quickly read it through, and a look of satisfaction spread over his face.

"We have Ferren now," he declared firmly. "There is no way he can wriggle out of this."

He looked at the men before him. They had done well, and he would remember it, but he was not one for handing out praise.

""I'll put this safely under lock and key," he said, "and we will take action on it tomorrow."

Dismissed, the two agents left, looking forward to getting to their own homes.

As they went down the stairs, Doyle smiled at Palmer. "You'll learn soon enough not to expect thanks from the boss," he said. "It's not his way. He expects us to do the tasks he sets us. But he registers everything and he has a very good memory."

He patted Palmer on the back as they exited to collect their cars from the yard. "But I am extremely grateful for all the help you gave me, and also to your sister and brother-in-law. I hope you got expenses for them."

"I have a list ready to put in," said Palmer.

"Best of luck," said Doyle.

"I enjoyed working with you," said Palmer, a little diffidently, "and I hope I have the chance again some time."

"I'll certainly remember you, and keep your name in mind," said Doyle, and meant every word.

Doyle reported in as usual next morning, and as so often happened, met up with his partner as they parked their cars in the yard. Bodie bounded up to him with a cheerful grin

"I hear you've been 'going Dutch'," he said. "Was she expensive ?," he added cheekily.

As Doyle looked at him blankly, he made it clearer. "You know, the old ' Red Light' district !."

"Idiot," replied Doyle, understanding the innuendo. "I was working ! And anyway, I had Palmer with me. I wouldn't lead a youngster like that astray, would I ?," he added with a grin.

"Pity, missed opportunity," retorted Bodie.

"Now you are talking 'Double Dutch," Doyle came back at him.

This easy banter was an integral part of their special relationship, and both enjoyed the repartee.. It would be good to be back working together again.

They knocked on Cowley's door and were summoned into the office. Their boss had a folder in his hand, which Doyle instantly recognised. His interest quickened. This must surely mean that Cowley had something planned to do with Ferren.

Cowley showed the contents of the folder to Bodie. "This is what Doyle managed to get yesterday," he said.

Bodie looked impressed. "Great," he said, "We've got Ferren 'bang to rights' this time."

"Yes," agreed Cowley, "He'll join his men in court, and they'll all go to prison, that's certain."

Doyle had been watching his boss, and caught an odd expression on his face.

"You look almost disappointed, sir ?, he said, responding instinctively.

"Very astute of you, Doyle," said Cowley. "Yes, I am in a way. This was a new venture for Ferren, and failed at its first attempt. His lawyers will plead 'first offence' and try to get him off lightly."

"You'd rather have got him for drug offences, much more serious, and likely to put him behind bars for longer," said Doyle cleverly.

"Precisely," agreed Cowley. "Which is why I want you to pick him up straight away. I want a little word with him at the Interrogation Centre before I pass this on to the proper authorities," he added, waving the special folder.

This particularly pleased Bodie. He much preferred action to searching through records.

"And I want him alive," stressed Cowley. "I'll learn nothing from a dead man."

In the third-floor office in his warehouse, Ferren paced back and forth uneasily. He was in a very unsettled frame of mind.

His clever plan to make himself a fortune had failed. He had been so sure of it. His men, with one of his new furniture vans, would raid a grand country house, and bring away all they could load. The haul would then be packed into one of his usual export container lorries and shipped out to Amsterdam. Using his connection with Rutgers, albeit very vague, he would get them to sell it for him, and it would be all profit !

Knowing as little as he did about the antique market, the deluded man had not realised that the scheme was doomed to failure anyway. No legitimate antique firm, with a reputation to maintain, would accept goods as casually as that. They would require proof of ownership and history details of each and every item before they would sell them on.

He had prided himself that the scheme was fool-proof, but it had failed at the first attempt, and the van and his men were in police custody.

He had managed to save himself by declaring that he knew nothing about it. His men knew that they would be well recompensed for keeping quiet !

It should have worked, he kept telling himself. It had been sheer chance that those C.I.5 men had spotted the van and followed it, _ sheer unlucky chance !

His pacing took him close to the window, and he glanced out at the empty yard below. His usual lorries were all out on legitimate, if rather dull business. Only the other furniture van stood uselessly in one corner.

Then a movement caught his eye. A car was pulling into the yard. It stopped and two men got out. He recognised them at once, having had dealings with them before, questions about drugs which he'd fended off adequately.

It was the same two that had foiled his current plans !  
Bodie and Doyle ! Curse them, he thought. They get everywhere.

Then a sudden panic swept over him. They are coming to pick me up. They can't have anything on me, can they ? My men won't have talked.

Fear spurred him to action. He unlocked a desk drawer and started pushing papers haphazardly into a brief case.

Bodie and Doyle started up the stairs. Having been here several times before, they knew that Ferren's office was on the third floor, and that there was no lift. They had registered an absence of lorries, but had spotted Ferren's expensive car parked by the door, so knew he was here, and probably alone.

Just as they came to the foot of the last set of stairs, they heard a sudden odd noise, a kind of clanging. For a moment Doyle looked puzzled. Then quick realisation swept in.

"The fire-escape !," he yelled.

Both men turned and shot down the stairs again. Bodie shot straight on, making for the door they had come in by. Doyle took a detour into a side passage and threw his weight onto the bar of a door marked Emergency Exit.

He wrenched it open and shot out, to come almost face to face with Ferren, hurrying down the metal staircase.

The panic-stricken man re-acted swiftly. He swung the heavy brief-case he was carrying and caught Doyle a heavy blow on the side of the head, knocking him off balance.

Doyle's fingers, grabbing for the side rail, missed by a couple of inches, and he tumbled head-long down the final flight of iron steps, to land in a heap at the bottom.

Ferren charged down the steps, leapt over the sprawling figure, and ran along the side of the building, making for his car parked out the front.

He didn't make it !

As he reached the corner, another figure appeared, and Ferren ran slap-bang into the human wall that was Bodie. It knocked all the wind out of him.

Bodie grabbed the man's arm, twisted it behind his back, and frog-marched him back to where his partner was just clambering to his feet.

"You all right, mate ?," he asked, noticing that Doyle was rubbing his shoulder carefully. He could also see a slight trickle of blood on his chin, where the buckle on the brief-case had caught it.

"Yes, I'm O.K," said Doyle. "He clobbered me with that, and knocked me down the steps." he added, reaching forward to pull the offending article from Ferren's hand. "I wonder what he's stashed in that ? I think Cowley might enjoy having a look."

Ferren looked dismayed. He'd put papers in there that he didn't want anyone to see. He should have left them locked away, he thought with hindsight.

He'd brought about his own downfall.

Bodie and Doyle marched Ferren back to their car and shoved him in the back, locking the doors.

As Doyle slid into the passenger seat, clutching the brief-case, Bodie moved a hand to turn down the sunshield which had a mirror on the back. Doyle saw the slight injury and dealt with it as they drove off.

When they reached the Interrogation Centre, they spotted Cowley's car. So he was already here. They ejected their prisoner, and marched him into the building. They were directed to the briefing-room where their boss was waiting.

"One delivery," said Bodie, cheekily, and got glared at for his pains, but it was like water off a duck's back. He'd learned just how far he could go with his irascible boss.

"We've brought you a present," said Doyle, handing the brief-case to Cowley. "I think you'll find some interesting reading in there, sir."

Two other agents who had been standing back now stepped forward and pushed Ferren into a chair. The watching pair recognised them as specialists in interrogation techniques. Doyle felt almost sorry for Ferren. He was in for a rough time.

But at least it meant that their task had been completed. And they had a day off tomorrow, Saturday, which he was looking forward to. Some parts he'd ordered for his bike had come, and he was looking forward to fitting them.

But as they turned to leave, Cowley detained them. He looked thoughtful. "You're both off-duty tomorrow, aren't you,?," he said.

Oh, no, thought Doyle. He's going to cancel it. But he had a surprise.

"Take Sunday too," said Cowley. "I've something big looming on Monday, so be in sharp then."

The pair hurried out, very pleased with the thought of a whole week-end, a rare treat.

"What will you do ?," Doyle asked his partner.

"Find which girl is free, and take her on the river," said Bodie instantly. "Want to come along ?."

"No way," retorted Doyle. "I'm working on my bike. Then on Sunday there's a 'Bike Meet' that I would have liked to go to, and now I can." A smile lit his face at the thought.

Bodie dropped him back to the yard to collect his car. Then on the best of terms, they parted company, each off to enjoy his favourite form of relaxation, to re-charge their batteries for the next assignment. Back together again.


End file.
